Friendly Warning
by Wordwielder
Summary: An aside during 13x22, where Dean is as honest as he's ever been with Jack, and Jack finally understands some things.


After all his bluster and the shouting, Jack was not enthused when Dean started walking beside him and quietly asked for a moment to talk, but he nodded, and let the others fall ahead.

"Look, uh, Jack," Dean said. "You don't know your dad, you're right. But you know, talking to him? Might not really change that."

"What do you mean?"

"Take my dad. Me and Sam's dad. I spent years with the guy, just him and me, and when he died I still felt like I never really knew him."

Jack hesitated. Dean was rarely so open with him, so fatherly. He left the tenderness to Sam. Maybe he'd let Jack ask questions.

"What was he like?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, kid. He was grumpy most of the time and usually half-way drunk, but he was a damn good hunter. Look, did anyone ever actually tell you what happened to our mom? How she died, the first time?"

Jack shook his head.

"Sammy was six month old, and a demon set her and our house on fire. Dad handed me Sammy and told me to get outside. He tried to save her, but…" he sighed. "He raised us to be hunters. Sam hated it. Would complain like you would not believe. Dad would leave us alone for a week and I'd have to get Sammy fed and washed and off to school. I basically raised that kid. Loved him, but it was shitty. It was shitty."

"That sounds difficult," Jack said. Dean laughed a little. "Yeah, it was. My point is, my dad wasn't ever the same after he saw my mom die. He wanted us to be soldiers in his war, and that's what we became. He loved us. That's why he did it. But it drove Sam away, and I'll tell you the truth, Jack, I hated them both for it."

"Away?"

"College," Dean grunted. "I wouldn't ask Sam about it, buddy. Still a touchy spot."

"Did Sam like college?"

"Oh, man, he loved it. Best years of his life, from what he said when he actually called me." Dean laughed. "I've got touchy spots too, I guess."

"He…was distant."

Dean nodded. "Let me tell you a story, kid. It was the end of Sam's first semester at Stanford. He talked to me a lot more in the beginning, called maybe once a month. Dad was in North Dakota, I had a thing down in Louisiana. Werewolf sliced me up before I managed to shoot it. I was bleeding all over a goddamn graveyard. I staunched the blood, managed to get myself back to the motel to stitch myself up."

"By yourself?"

"Valuable skill to have, kid. Not for you, since you can heal yourself, but a hunter should know. Sam did it for me and I did it for Dad. It's easier when someone else does it and you can just drink and grit your teeth. But once Sam was gone and Dad and I started splitting up sometimes, I made sure I could handle basic first aid. Anyway, I was splayed out over a kitchenette table, and I missed Sam so goddamn much. Not just because he could've been doing the work for me, but because he'd be doing it and bitching about how I should've been more careful and then telling me the Latin root of the word werewolf or some shit. So I, uh, I called him. Usually I let him call me, y'know, 'cause he was busy. And uh, he answered, all pissy, and said, 'I've got a final in the morning, what?' And I just said, 'Yeah, Sammy. I'm sorry,' and hung up. Jack, I've been real low before, I wasn't ever as low as I was right after Sam left for college. Sometimes, I thought—Man, I'm really waxing over here. Impending demise will do it to ya."

"Do you really think we're going to die?"

"Kid, at this point I don't even dwell on it. One day, my ticket will be up. For real this time. And as long as I go out doing good, that'll be okay." Dean clapped Jack's shoulder, and Jack fought the urge to lean into Dean's height and warmth and solidness. "I think you'll be fine, no matter what happens here. You're a game-changer."

"Thank you," Jack said. "I still want to know my father."

Dean grimaced. "You can try to know him, Jack. I'm still trying to know mine. But the things he's done…you can't know them, even if I tell you. Just be careful, kid."

"I promise I will."

Dean looked sad. "I know you'll try."

"Do you miss your father?" Jack dared. Dean opened his mouth and shut it and opened it again.

"I don't know," he said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think about what he did, and I'm glad the bastard's dead. Other times, I think about how he fought for us every day and I wish I see him one more time. Nothing's ever clean, Jack."

"I miss my mother," Jack said. "Even though I didn't really know her."

"Aw, kid," Dean said. "I didn't know her well. Cas would be the best person to ask about her. But I know she loved you more than anything. It counts for something." He glanced around. "Hey, I wanna go talk to Sam. Come get me if you need anything, alright?"

"Alright," Jack said. Dean left without another word, but Jack sat a moment, reflecting on what he had seen. He had longed for Dean to respect him and care for him for so long. He had wanted Dean to be like Sam. Maybe that had been unrealistic. What Dean had said had finally made sense of it all. Dean had been tasked with protection his entire life. Jack had been a threat, and Dean couldn't allow threats. Dean had thought that Jack was responsible for the loss of his mother and (more importantly?) Castiel. Dean couldn't hug him and listen and reassure like Sam. He had been hardened into something else. Dean could clap his shoulders. Dean could protect. This was who he was. Sam could listen, and Castiel could soothe, and Dean could call him kid and threaten his father. They were all who they were, he could not ask them to be anything else, and Jack cared for them all. He would be careful. He would not let them down.


End file.
